So I go to the doctor of philosophy
for my annual metaphysical. He asks me
the usual questions: Any irregularity
with your epistemology? Are the meds
still helping with those intermittent bouts
of doubt? I tell him Yes, but that recently
it has taken on a hyper-Cartesian
tinge, going beyond the use of “not”
as a helpful tool for testing a suspect
reality. It has progressed to a troublesome
tendency toward generalized negation, a habit
of rejecting every supposition. The doc says,
Then we’d better increase your dosage
to get this under control. With your
phenomenological pressure so elevated, I think
you are at risk of rupture. Well, I say,
that may be, but how would you know?
He’s good, that doc. He comes right back
with How do you know that you’re not?
So we agree I’ll try a higher dose.
But don’t go thinking I am going to believe
that it will work.

Oh my goodness–thanks so much for getting in touch, Anne Marie! I want you to know how much I enjoyed spending time with your poem “Last Evening: Index of First Lines.” Its rhythms and internal logic really grew on me as I immersed myself in it. And that’s on top of the intriguing world of images that each line opens into!

I see that _Spitshine_ is out now–congratulations! I look forward to getting my own copy of your first collection.